


Hug It Better

by MnM_ov_doom



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Bromance, Cuddling, Cuteness overload, Deadpool feels, Deadpool likes to hug, M/M, Taskmaster likes comfy places, Taskmaster likes to be hugged, Taskmaster wanted a pony, Tasky feels, UDON Tasky, behold the feels, behold the mighty feels, hugs many hugs, in which I'm a horrible person and make Taskmaster remember his life, not the pseudo Pirate of the Caribbean Tasky, one-shot turned into epic, sad Tasky he needs a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4853225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnM_ov_doom/pseuds/MnM_ov_doom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taskmaster has feelings, damn it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Deadpool is a genius

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic about these two. :3 I hope I got them right.  
> Also, because I'm a horrible, horrible person, Tasky remembers his life.  
> I'd like to know your opinions on this. :) Thanks!

Today was one of those days.

Everybody has one of _those_ days, when someone wakes up and somehow feels depressed, when apparently there are no reasons to feel depressed.  
Today was one of those days, in which Taskmaster, the big bad merc who listens to Spice Girls, felt depressed. He usually had one of those days once a month, so apparently there was nothing to worry about.

  
Yet, he knew this time he should worry…

  
Sitting in his comfy couch, in his comfy penthouse, in a relatively quiet zone of New York City, wearing a pair of comfy track pants and a comfy hoodie, Taskmaster was waiting patiently for the commercials to be over and the “Aliens” program in History Channel to start. And sitting there, with nothing to do, his companion depression made him think.  
He hated when depression did that to him…  
He wasn’t a bad person. Considering his profession, he was actually a pretty cool guy. He thought himself as having been a normal child, despite what his mother and psychiatrists could have thought of him. He remembered there was one day he asked if he could have a pony, because he had seen a movie about a girl and her horse and at the time he thought he knew how to take care of a horse. His mother said there was no money for a pony. So, he decided he would be an expert in martial arts and have enough money for a pony. Time gone by, and the young Taskmaster decided that, instead of being an expert in martial arts, he would be a hero, fight crime, earn money and buy a pony big enough to be ridden by a man. However… crime turned out to be more prosperous.  
Opening a school seemed like a great idea to earn some extra cash, besides the mercenary activity. He remembers one of his first students, an eighteen years-old boy who failed the tests to join the army, but that he accepted to train to be a simple mercenary. He eventually grew fond of the kid and privately treated him like his spoiled little brother. Sadly, the kid was shot in the head during his first mission.  
Still today, Taskmaster blames himself for not giving the kid a paperwork job or something like that.  
Between more schools and the mercenary work, he discovered he couldn’t have a pony; he simply didn’t have time for a pony, and who would take care of it if he died? Besides no pony, Taskmaster was also a no girlfriends, because having a girlfriend would be even worse than having a pony; she would require time he didn’t have, would want to spend his not-that-easily-won money on clothes and shoes and jewels, and there was always the chance of someone revenging on him through his girlfriend.  
There had been Sandi, one of the few women he had dated, and certainly the one he was more attached to and fond of. And in spite of having her shot, he was actually ready not to give up of their relationship. Sadly she had, and even more sadly she seemed to be completely over with him. She seemed glad with that scarred freak around…

  
Finally, the “Aliens” began, dragging Taskmaster out of his musings on how lonely and sad he was. Today’s program was about alien weaponry and Taskmaster crossed his legs on the couch, much like a happy child watching his favourite cartoon.  
When there was a five minutes break, Taskmaster took the chance to get a packet of Cheetos and a can of Nestea to make him company. And he almost succeeded in sitting in his comfy couch again… then someone rang the bell and knocked at the door.  
Taskmaster frowned under his mask; only Sandi knew his address, and lately, thanks to that freak with X scars, she wasn’t visiting him anymore. So the masked man stood up, unsheathed a small knife from a scabbard tied to his left leg and made his way to the door. Carefully, he peeked through the spying hole in the door…

… and there was Deadpool at the other side of the door, dressed in jeans, a jacket and hoodie and his mask, looking at him through the hole.  
With an even bigger frown, Taskmaster opened the door:  
“How did you-“ he tried to ask. Deadpool simply pushed him aside and stepped in, smiling so widely it was visible through his mask. And why was he carrying a huge military backpack?:  
“Sandi. She’s the sweetestest of hearts! I told her I lost my keys and I didn’t want to kick the door open because the last time I did that the door ate my foot, and I got no money right now to call the firemen to save me and open the door for me, and it will take a few days for the mighty key-maker to make a key… and Spiderman didn’t want to take me home, and the Avengers expulsed me from their tower, and Wolvy didn’t even bother to open the door… and Sandi said you were lonely and wouldn’t mind company and gave me your address!” Deadpool threw the backpack to the floor together with his jacket, kicked his trainers off and trotted happily to the couch. “Look, the “Aliens” guy!! I love his meme, it’s the answer to all the great mysteries of life!” He took a seat – Taskmaster’s comfy spot- lifted his mask just enough to expose his mouth and took a handful of Cheetos. “I had no idea you had interests other than killing badies and goodies and making moneis!”  
Taskmaster was still digesting that fact that _Deadpool_ had his address. And was sitting in his comfy couch. And eating his Cheetos. And drinking his Nestea. And that there were scattered items in his meticulously clean and organized living room; _Deadpool’s items_ , by the way:  
“Tasky, don’t just stand there, that’s creepy!” the mercenary with the red and black hoodie complained and tapped the empty place on the couch beside him.  
Great, now Deadpool was ordering him around in his own house!  
Taskmaster went to sit in the couch… only because he didn’t want to miss the program. Too bad, he couldn’t understand much of it because Deadpool didn’t shut up and chewed too loudly and burped too loudly.

  
When the program was over, Taskmaster hurried to switch off the TV and turned around to face his unwanted guest, whose mouth was already open to express himself about how much he was enjoying watching TV:  
“You can’t stay here!” Taskmaster exclaimed. Deadpool’s mask offered him the saddest puppy eyes ever:  
“Ow, why? Aren’t we friends?”  
“No!”  
“But I want to be your friend!”  
“You don’t befriend people by occupying their apartments, Wilson!”  
“Wade for you, babe!” Deadpool winked, but then the sad puppy eyes were back again. “But I’m homeless right now and the boxes are afraid of the dangerous streets of New York at night!”  
Taskmaster was going to ask who or what were the boxes, but something told him he shouldn’t. He let out a long, hissing sigh. He wasn’t friends with Deadpool. Mercenaries – professional mercenaries- didn’t have friends because that would endanger said friends. But he wasn’t exactly enemies with Deadpool, not since he had met Sandi. And let’s face it, they had been through a few adventures (and misadventures) together, so it was fair they could tell they knew each other enough to share a roof. Not that this option pleased Taskmaster…  
For Sandi, he would allow Deadpool in his apartment.

 

* * *

 

Taskmaster grudgingly leaded Deadpool to the guest room, where the other mercenary left his backpack, and then Taskmaster showed him the rest of the house; the office (“Where did you buy that chair?”), the bathroom (“You don’t mind if I borrow your shampoo, right? I mean, do you even have hair??”, to which Taskmaster replied “And do you, cancer dude?”), the gym (“You have a yoga ball! We could play football with that, it would be so cool!”) and the kitchen (“What about a special Saturday dinner, Tasky?”).  
When they went back to the living room and sat in the couch again, because Taskmaster had no idea of what to do with his unrequired guest, Deadpool stood up again little later and began to inspect the books on the bookshelf and the DVDs:  
“Why didn’t you stay with Sandi?” Taskmaster asked, feeling extremely uncomfortable for having someone –Deadpool- investigating what kind of books he read and what kind of movies he watched (besides fighting videos):  
“I don’t like that Wannabe Me, he punched my poor sore skull while I was in the bathtub minding my business!” Deadpool replied, his head tilted so that he could read the book’s titles. “«Crime and Punishment»? «The Phantom of the Opera»? You big softy…”  
“Please tell me you’ll stay only during the weekend…”  
“I’m going to stay only during the weekend,” And Deadpool turned around to face a hopeful Taskmaster. Then he burst out laughing and dried imaginary tears. “Ah! Got you!”  
Taskmaster just sighed sadly and shook his head helplessly. He leaned back in the couch and crossed his arms over his chest; alone, he would usually pull his legs to his chest and wrap his arms around his legs. But having Deadpool knowing what he read and watched was enough.  
After mocking Taskmaster for having Monty Python’s DVDs, Deadpool joined him in the couch and sat cross-legged:  
“So, what do we do now?” he asked gleefully:  
“We stay here and I stop you from destroying my house,” the other mercenary replied. Deadpool pouted:  
“That’s no fun! We could play chess, strip poker, seek-and-hide…”  
“We can do a staring contest.”  
“No! You’re gonna win ‘cause you have the freaky mask!”  
“And you have your face!” Taskmaster smiled under his mask. Certainly his first smile in a few days. Deadpool narrowed his eyes, but then he offered the other man what he considered to be a seducing smile. And, sadly for Taskmaster, Deadpool’s mask was inefficient when it came to hide facial expressions:  
“Am I that gorgeous, Tasky?”  
Taskmaster’s turn to narrow his eyes; Deadpool did know how to turn the game… Deadpool began to rock himself back and forth, with his hands over his knees:  
“We could tell each other secret stuff, since we’re friends now!”  
“I’m not your friend, Wilson…”  
“But you’re not my enemy at all,” Deadpool clapped his hands. “We’re «frenemies»!!”  
Taskmaster thought about arguing that, but he caught himself nodding, slowly.  
Maybe they should play a game to pass the time…

They ordered pizza to save Taskmaster’s beautiful kitchen from being ruined by Deadpool’s attempts to imitate Gordon Ramsay.  
And, playing cards while dinning pizza, Taskmaster had to admit it wasn’t that bad. Actually, Deadpool’s company wasn’t bad at all, he just spoke too much, too loud and had no idea of what was someone’s personal space. Deadpool could even be funny, when he was not telling jokes or trying to be funny.  
It was nearly midnight when Taskmaster decided he was sleepy. So he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. And, by the big round mirror over the sink, he noticed Deadpool peeking from the semi-open door. Taskmaster lowered his toothbrush and turned around to look at the other mercenary:  
“Yes?”  
“You gonna take the mask off? The boxes and I wanna see your face!” Deadpool exclaimed and, since his stealthyness had been useless, he kicked the door open and looked at the other mercenary eagerly. Taskmaster blinked his eyes, slowly:  
“I don’t take my mask off,” he grumbled and turned his back to Deadpool. He lifted his mask and rolled up the balaclava underneath it just enough to uncover his mouth. Deadpool approached, looking at the bit of exposed skin like it was made of diamonds:  
“Can I touch you?” And, without waiting for an answer, he poked Taskmaster’s bare chin.  
The mercenary in the blue hoodie nearly choked with the toothpaste and slapped Deadpool’s hand away:  
“Fuck you, Wilson! Next time you do anything like that will be your last!!” He coughed, waving his toothbrush menacingly towards Deadpool. The scarred man didn’t even flinch:  
“Have you reached that time of our lives when we can’t tell mask and man apart?” he asked innocently. Taskmaster choked with the toothpaste again and kicked Deadpool out of the bathroom.

Later, lying in his comfy bed, Taskmaster discovered he couldn’t sleep at all. There was that annoying depressive feeling again, making him think while he should be sleeping.  
To be honest, he couldn’t tell the difference anymore between Taskmaster and Tony Masters. He took off his mask, obviously… when he had to shave or bathe or open the door to collect his online shopping or pizzas. The rest of the time, the mask was always there. It was comfortable, he didn’t like to have people looking at him and guessing what was going on, and it allowed him to cry whenever he felt the urge to.  
He cried. The only one knowing Taskmaster cried had been that poor hapless student. Taskmaster wasn’t ashamed of crying; in fact, besides punching stuff, it was a good way to release stress. So he was really glad he had a mask and a pair of really cool eye-contacts, so no one would know there were tears running down his face.  
The last time he cried had been some weeks ago, when the freak with the X scars had kicked him around and Sandi had just watched, probably marvelled with Alex’s capacities. That had probably been one of the most frustrating and irritating situations in Taskmaster’s life, and he honestly didn’t know how long he would manage not to murder that scarred bastard.  
Thinking about the whole situation, he felt his closed eyes sting. He wrapped his arms around himself and allowed himself to cry until finally falling asleep.

Meanwhile, Deadpool decided he didn’t like his room. There was just the bed, a wardrobe and a mirror, and even though the entire house had a fluffy white carpet… the room felt cold, impersonal. A few packets of chips and empty cans of soda would surely make it feel more comfortable.  
Deadpool, wearing a Deadpool pyjamas, jumped out of the bed and trotted happily to the door. He opened it, crossed the corridor, made a small razzia in Taskmaster’s pantry and fridge and then went back to his room. However, just as he was about to close the door again, he thought it would be educated to ask his fellow mercenary if he wanted a midnight snack.  
Afterall, Taskmaster owned the house!  
So Deadpool trotted to the room right in front of his, the one with the door closed and the only one that Taskmaster hadn’t showed him; it had to be Taskmaster’s room. Carefully, Deadpool opened the door a little and slipped his head into the room.  
It was a big room, with one big window with blue curtains. The blinds were open, and the city’s night lights cast an eerie light in the room. There was a small wardrobe in the wall opposite to the window, a big dark chest under the window and a big round bed in the space between the window and the wardrobe. Taskmaster was lying on the bed, with the sheets and blankets pulled to the feet of the bed. Deadpool frowned; the masked man was curled up in foetal position, with his arms wrapped strongly around himself and his head low, apparently uninterested on the various pillows that surrounded him.  
As silent as he had never been, Deadpool closed the door again.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Tasky, what if he go in a man date?” Deadpool asked excitedly during breakfast, speaking with his mouth full of corn flakes. He had his mask rolled up his nose bridge and the other mercenary was doing his best not to look at Deadpool’s scars moving while he chewed. Taskmaster sighed from across the table and stopped the route of his toast from the dish to his exposed mouth:  
“No,” he answered:  
“But we need food! I mean, I’m sorry, but I thought my room needed a better decoration and my decoration can be obtained only by food and-“  
“Oh god… my carpet…” Taskmaster muttered sadly and hid his face on his free hand. He then took a bite on his toast. “Wilson… all the mess you make, you’re going to clean it,” Taskmaster nearly chocked on his toast and widened his eyes. “Wait a minute, «your room»?? No, no, my guest room! Keep that in mind!!”  
“Jeez, you need to relax. I can make you a massage, you seemed tense last nig-“  
_«Stuuuuuuuuuuuupiiiiiiiiid!!!»_  
_‘Veeeeeeeery stuuuuuuuupiiiiiiiid!!!!’_  
“You seem tense!” Deadpool smiled exaggeratedly, hoping he had succeeded in not giving out what he had seen. Taskmaster didn’t look like the kind of guy who would like to be seen sleeping curled in a ball.  
“I have to kill you for that.” Taskmaster replied with fake calm and went back to his toast. The problem wasn’t that Deadpool had seen him, seemed he would have to live with that… the problem was that now the other mercenary wouldn’t stop nosing around.  
And Taskmaster liked his privacy and quietude.  
Deadpool seemed to forget about his cereal bowl:  
“Now seriously Tasks, you wanna talk about it? I have my fragile moments too and most of times my friends give me the cold shoulder, even the boxes, but I’m good people and I’ll give you the hot shoulder.”  
“If we go shopping, will you drop it?” Taskmaster asked, and couldn’t help a sly smile. The little of Deadpool’s exposed scarred face lit up with a radiant smile and he nodded enthusiastically.

 

* * *

 

“You said we were going shopping!!” Deadpool complained sadly, invading Taskmaster’s personal space and resting his chin on his shoulder. The other mercenary sighed, fighting the urge of punching Deadpool’s face, because that would certainly make him drop his laptop, and he didn’t want that:  
“We are shopping. I buy everything online.”  
“Bad Tasky, bad!” And to clear his point, Deadpool pouted and turned on the TV, zapping and mumbling something under his breath. Taskmaster had to admit it was funny.  
For some glorious five minutes, the masked man was able to do his shopping quietly. But as he closed his laptop and stood up to leave it in his bedroom, Deadpool turned off the TV and looked at him, frowning a little:  
“You seemed a little tense. And sad. I thought about going there and spoon you, but it would be a shame to get your fancy bed all bloodied and I don’t feel like growing new limbs right now.”  
“I thought you would drop the subject…”  
“I thought we were gonna shopping!!”  
Taskmaster narrowed his eyes. Deadpool narrowed his eyes, too. With a grunt, the masked man bypassed the other mercenary and made his way to his bedroom. Deadpool hurried to trot after him:  
“Tooooooooony… c’m on, let us be gentlemen with each other and talk about our feelings!” the scarred man tried. They reached Taskmaster’s room, who made his way to the wardrobe and placed his laptop in a shelf inside it. Deadpool threw himself face-plant on the round bed. “Hmmm, cou’fy!”  
“I’ll give you three seconds to leave my bed alone…” Taskmaster warned and pinched the place where his nose bridge was. Deadpool looked up at him, smiling:  
“You’re such a big softy; fluffy couch, fluffy towels, fluffy carpet, fluffy bed, fluffy pillows… I bet the inside of your mask is fluffy too!”  
“One…”  
“All this fluffiness around you lead to a logical conclusion; you feel sad and lonely! You must have a teddy bear somewhere!”  
“Two…”  
“Aw, come on!! Show some feelings!! The fangirls are gonna love the feely-Tasky!”  
“Three- the _what_??”  
“The fangirls! You know, those girls who can’t conform themselves with our fate in the comics and plot alternate stories with us and read such stories! They sometimes make interesting drawings too! The coolest stuff out there is Stony, Spideypool and, of course, Taskpool!”  
Taskmaster blinked his eyes, slowly, and felt the beginning of a headache:  
“Whaa…? I mean- get off my bed, now!!”  
“Make me. And draw me like one your French girls,” Deadpool replied with a smile and posed.  
With a defeated groan, Taskmaster left the room and headed to the gym. A few push-ups would do wonders on him.  
And that was when someone held him by the back of his hoodie:  
“I mean it Tony, what’s the matter? Sandi likes you too much to simply arrange us a date, she must know something’s wrong with you,” And Deadpool sounded so serious Taskmaster glanced over his shoulder, surprised.  
He had never heard Deadpool talk like that.  
And… was Sandi really concerned? Taskmaster frowned and kicked Deadpool in the stomach. The other mercenary let go of his hoodie and stumbled backwards:  
“Or she would show up once in a while…” Taskmaster grumbled bitterly. Feeling like he was now walking on thin ice, he went to the gym, undressed his hoodie and opened a small cabinet where he kept two rolls of bandages that he used to wrap around his hands to make the push-ups. Then he started his session:  
“You miss her,” Taskmaster heard Deadpool say and felt him sit on his back. He hurried to shake him off and the other mercenary fell next to him. “You know Tony, if you keep everything to yourself you’ll end up like a crazy shit, you know?”  
“Can’t be worse than being you.”  
“Ouch! Stop being nasty, I have feelings!”  
Taskmaster resumed to his push-ups. Deadpool decided to do some push-ups too:  
“I can make more push-ups than you!”  
“Yes, yes…” the other mercenary sighed sadly:  
“Talking on push-ups, what’s your opinion on push-up bras?”  
“What???”  
“You know, those bras that make skinny girls look like they have huge balloons!”  
“I wonder if shoving one down your throat would shut you up…”  
Deadpool pouted and went quiet, much for Taskmaster’s relief.

They ordered pizza again, for lunch. Apparently (and hopefully) Deadpool had forgotten about how sad and miserable Taskmaster was feeling, because both mercenaries had exercised in relative tranquillity and without any incidents.  
Now, waiting for the pizza, Deadpool was zapping animatedly and Taskmaster was looking absently through the window. It was a gloomy day outside and, even though the apartment had central heating, the masked man felt a shiver.  
Sandi had liked to cuddle up with him in gloomy days…  
Discreetly, Taskmaster observed Deadpool by the corner of his eye; he had to admit, the guy wasn’t exactly bad… at least he was good for Sandi… and he also disliked her new stupid pet. Taskmaster groaned, sure he was about to commit the biggest mistake of his life, and rubbed his eyes tiredly, then pulled his legs up to the couch, wrapped his arms around them and rested his chin on his knees:  
“Have you ever felt like there’s always something missing, no matter how much money you have in your bank account, how comfortable your house is, and how happy you should be for being alive?” he asked quietly:  
“Aw, Tasky… wanna make out? You know, to make you feel better…”  
“Why did I even try, Wilson, WHY???” the other mercenary replied, frustrated, and hid his face on his hands; he should have known, Deadpool was not made for adult conversations, despite of him being a little calmer than when Taskmaster first met him. However, much for Taskmaster’s surprise, Deadpool turned off the TV and looked at him. He had an uncharacteristically serious expression, and a shadow of sadness crossed his eyes:  
“All the time, Tasks… all the damn time.”  
“Well, good to know I’m not the only one,” Taskmaster grumbled, a little taken aback with Deadpool’s serious confession:  
“You still love Sandi, that’s cute,” Deadpool stated and mimicked Taskmaster’s stance. The other mercenary shrugged, uncomfortable. “Why don’t you tell her?”  
“I already did… nothing happened…” He sighed and reached for the remote. “You nearly made me lose my aliens...”

 

* * *

 

“Hey Tasks!”  
Taskmaster looked away from his domino pieces to Deadpool. If someone had told him that, one day, he would be sitting in the middle of his living room playing domino with Deadpool, he would have yelled a barrage of profanity, shot that someone dead and then laugh:  
“What?”  
“The boxes and I have a brilliant idea! I could kick the shit out of you and then drop you at Sandi’s, so she would take care of you and fall in love with you again, because really, who wouldn’t like to nurse that muscular arse of yours?”  
“Despite the kick-the-shit-out-of-me-part and the inappropriate comment on my rear-guard… it could work!” Under the mask, Taskmaster’s face lit up with a radiant smile. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long while. “That could work, Wade!”  
“See, I’m a genius, we should hang out together more often!” Deadpool grinned and discarded his domino pieces. “So, let’s do it?”  
“When you have your keys back, by no means you’re staying alone in my place! And stop showing your pieces, damn it!”  
“Aw…”  
_«Try suggesting to make out again!»_  
_‘Talk about your feelings, THEN suggest a good making out session!’_  
“Shut up, I’m a decent man!” Deadpool grumbled. Taskmaster stopped mid-action to lay a domino piece:  
“What?”  
“The boxes!! They make me company, but they’re a bad influence sometimes!!”  
“What boxes…?”  
“The yellow boxes!” Deadpool had no matching domino piece, so he had to pick one from a little pile near the game. “They were telling me to make out with you, but if I make out with you I’ll lose the game, and I ain’t losing a freakin’ domino game to a skull-face dude!”  
“I don’t like your yellow boxes…”


	2. In which Taskmaster is a hapless softy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you people for leaving kudos and comments. :) (keep up the good work, please!)  
> Also, I can't get the text formatted correctly... so sorry...

“I hate you with a passion…” Taskmaster growled when Deadpool suddenly stopped the DP-mobile (his little red motorbike) in front of the main entrance of the apartment building where Sandi lived:

“That’s so contradictory, T!” the other mercenary giggled and pulled a knife sticking out of his knee. “This is yours, by the way. And this, and this, and this, and this,” he proceeded, gesturing to the various bullet holes in his suit and another knife stuck in his neck:

“And this, this, this and this are yours!” Taskmaster replied and pointed a bullet wound in his shoulder, with no exiting hole, and the various katana cuts all over his body.

He should have known that Deadpool’s plan couldn’t be that _easy_. In fact, now that he couldn’t even move from the backseat of Deadpool’s motorbike, he should have known HE SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THIS. Now not only his ego and pride were broken… but also a couple of ribs, not to mention the bullet wound and the cuts and his poor, poor strained muscles. And there was something wrong with his left wrist, maybe it was sprained…

Hopefully, Sandi’s attention would worth every single second he had spent with Deadpool… Gosh, he hated fighting the guy… but he hated himself more for doing it on his _own free will_!!

It started to rain gently. The mercenary with the red and black suit pushed him off the motorbike and Taskmaster let out a barrage of profanity when his injured ribcage hit the asphalt road:

“Go, little lovebird!! I’ll keep this” And Deadpool pointed the knife in his neck. “to remember our passionate violent tango!”

“This better work… or I’ll tango you to your grave…” Taskmaster grumbled angrily and dragged himself to the small stairs that leaded to the building. He heard Deadpool drive away and, using his right hand, he held on the handrail and pulled himself up. Damn, he was sore… so more sore than when he had a normal day at the «office»…

He rang the bell to Sandi’s apartment and waited.

 

* * *

 

It was raining cats and dogs. Sandi didn’t like when Alex drove like _that_ when it rained like _that_. But they were finally arriving home, now Alex just needed to park the car in the garage and…:

“Hey, that’s Tony!!” Sandi exclaimed, widening her eyes. Alex stopped the car suddenly, just a few steps away from the main entrance of the building:

“He’s too late for dessert…” he said and glanced behind, over the backseats, to the hooded and armoured figure lying on the stairs. Sandi was already opening the door. “Sandi, no, you’ll get soaked!!”

Sandi couldn’t care less and ran to Taskmaster.

Taskmaster hated his life right now… He had been waiting for what, two hours? And it had started to rain a freaking lot, and he had started to feel impatient and had even considered sacrificing the drama-effect of being found outside in the rain just to go knock at her door. And right when he was about to take the keys of one of his pockets he _slipped_!!! In that stupid, wet, slippery marble floor!! Taskmaster defeated by a wet marble floor!! So he had slipped, fallen on his backside, rolled down the 4 steps that leaded to the entrance of the building and had nearly been ran over by a crazy biker who had _dared_ to call him freak!!

This happened five minutes before Sandi showed up, and Taskmaster was just too sore to drag himself all the way up again and his ribs hurt way too much for him to make any little movement.

Yet he had to admit, this was way more dramatic than his initial appearance, and it certainly would do the trick.

Sandi kneeled next to him, frowning worriedly:

“Tony?” she called and caressed his masked face. Behind his mask, Taskmaster ran his eyes up and down her body; why was she wearing a ceremony dress? “Tony, what happened?”

“Uh… job…” he answered in a raspy voice; he would certainly get a cold, thank you rain!:

“But… I don’t remember noting down any job for you!”

“Oh, this was a… hm… an old client, who contacted me directly… hm… old stuff… nothing important.”

“Hey teacher, did Iron Man ironed you?” Alex asked as he approached them running, after having parked Sandi’s car in the garage. Taskmaster narrowed his eyes; even Deadpool’s jokes were better than that.

Sandi stood up and looked for her keys inside her pink purse that matched her pink and soaked dress:

“Pick him up _carefully_ , Alex! I can’t leave him here!”

«Carefully» concerning Taskmaster, in «Alexish», meant «like a potato sack».

Taskmaster, who had been biting his lower lip all the way up to Sandi’s apartment, bit it even harder when Alex dropped him quite unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. And Sandi didn’t even protest!!

However she knelt immediately next to the injured mercenary and held his hand. The one with the ruined wrist…:

“Tony, can you hear me?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled and tried to squeeze her hand affectionately, only to find out his fingers didn’t obey:

“Did the Hulk thought you a puny mercenary?” Alex asked, peeking from over Sandi’s head. Damn, Taskmaster hated to have to look up at him:

“I’m fine Sandi…” Taskmaster replied and faked cough, just to have a real cough attack right after. Ouch, his ribs…:

“No, you’re not fine Tony!!” Sandi exclaimed sadly and reached out for her cell phone, in the purse, next to her on the floor. “And I don’t like the idea of dropping you at a hospital, and you might have something broken or an internal bleeding or… I’ll call Mr. Wilson, he’ll surely know what to do!!”

 _FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-_ But Taskmaster couldn’t ever hear himself thinking due to Alex’s hysterical laughter.

 

* * *

 

“There, we’re finally home!” Deadpool exclaimed as he parked his motorbike next to Tony’s jeep, in the garage of his apartment building:

“Grunfhnmehnfffff…” was the answer. Deadpool, dressing «civilian» but wearing his mask, glanced over his shoulder and cast Taskmaster a pitiful look:

“I’m sorry it didn’t work, Tony… but now you know Sandi really cares about you, she trusts me to take care of you!”

“I’m just going to get the fireworks to celebrate…” Taskmaster replied between gritted teeth. Deadpool sighed and took a small knife from his pocket, and used it to cut the rope he had used to tie Taskmaster to his waist and keep him in place during the motorbike ride. He then slipped the knife back to his pocket and seized Taskmaster bridal-style, being way more careful than Alex:

“Come on, cheer up!! I’ll make you pancakes, and read you a story, and help you with your manicure! Think of this as a «thanks» for letting me stay at your place for the last week!”

“If this is what I get for helping people, I won’t help anyone anymore!” Taskmaster sighed sadly. He was tired, sore, humiliated, cold, soaked and there was the beginning of a nasty cold with fever gnawing at the back of his head:

“Hush, Master of Tasks! Everything will be alright!” Deadpool assured. They left the garage and headed to the lift, and while getting them in the lift Deadpool accidentally hit Taskmaster’s head against the open doors:

“FFFFFFFFFFF-!!!!” the wounded mercenary hissed and brought his good hand to his head:

“Aw…”

_«Smooth…»_

_‘Real smooth...'_

They reached the last floor and Deadpool successfully got them out of the lift and into Taskmaster’s apartment without any more incidents.

Deadpool made his way to the bathroom and sat Taskmaster on the border of the bathtub:

“Now Tasky, be a good boy and tell me how the heck I undress you,” Deadpool said, only to be punched in the face. “Bad Tasky, bad!!”

“Fuck off…” Taskmaster grumbled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His fellow mercenary just shrugged and walked away:

“Fine, help yourself! You’ll need my help sooner or later, but while you don’t I’ll make myself something to eat, and watch some TV and-“ Deadpool closed the bathroom door and made his way to the kitchen, talking to himself about how much fun he would have while Taskmaster was busy being a tough guy.

Alone, Taskmaster slowly uncrossed his arms and pulled his hood down. Using the little energy and will-power he had left, he tossed his pistols and knifes to the floor and began to undress. He hated himself for bleeding on the immaculate white tiles of his big bathroom…

Each movement he made brought him pain. He had had much worse than this, but he hadn’t been wrecked inside, and the wreck inside was causing him to collapse in the outside too. He hated that, when he couldn’t pull himself together. Usually it took him around two days to rest and force himself to think solely on work, but this time it was taking too long for his liking.

Taskmaster had to admit that the week Deadpool spent with him actually helped him to cheer up a little, not to mention the fact that stopping the other mercenary from ruining his beautiful house kept him too busy to think about anything else.

He placed his mask over the washbasin, followed by the balaclava he wore under it, and finally the eye-contacts. Taskmaster looked at his unmasked face in the mirror; he had a few bruises, a stubble that had bothered him the whole day and puffy reddened eyes. Ignoring the bruises and his watery eyes, Taskmaster shaved his face and hair.

He finally managed to get into the bathtub without hurting his ribs and opened the hot water tap. He waited, until the bathtub filled with water to his neck, then he turned the tap off and started the jacuzzi. His ribs didn’t like the jacuzzi, though.

A basic hot bath would have to do… Taskmaster watched, lethargic, as the water slowly became red. The submersed wounds throbbed softly and the aching in his ribs softened. Taskmaster spent five minutes in the hot water, his eyes closed and his mind making a huge effort not to think on how Sandi had gotten rid of him… and then Deadpool was at the door, knocking non-stop and asking if he needed help, if he had drowned, if he wanted ice-cream…

Taskmaster couldn’t bring himself to yell at Deadpool. The crazed mercenary was actually being the only one giving a damn about him, and Taskmaster could be many things, but he wasn’t ungrateful:

“I’m fine… let me be,” Taskmaster replied when Deadpool threatened to break down the door to rescue him from evil robotic rubber ducks that could have invaded the bathroom:

“Are you sure, Tasks?” Deadpool asked from the other side of the door. He was chewing. Taskmaster had the feeling his Cheetos were no more. “I can scrub your back, if you want.”

“Go watch TV, Wade…”

“You have porn?”

“I have sappy musicals like «The Sound of Music» and «The Phantom of the Opera», now leave me the fuck alone!!” Taskmaster rubbed his closed eyes, tiredly:

“I want to watch those with you!”

“We could have our own musical, too…” Taskmaster grumbled between gritted teeth and managed to stand up. Pain flared up and down and sideways in his body. “«The Cheesy Mercenaries: Master of Tasks and Pool of Dead»…”

He pulled a towel from the towel rail, dried his face and wrapped the towel around his waist. Then he covered his face with the balaclava and the mask and limped out of the bathroom, nearly bumping into Deadpool, who had been _right there_ in front of the closed door:

“All the crumbs you leave you’re gonna clean…” Taskmaster grumbled, casting a disapproving look at all the biscuits the other mercenary was holding on his hands. Deadpool, with his mask rolled up his nose, stuck his tongue out:

“I was going to put on my sexy nurse outfit, but now I won’t do it anymore ‘cause you’re being mean!”

“Oh, what a shame...” the other mercenary replied and limped to his room. He closed the door and switched on the light; it should be 1 a.m. or something, and all Taskmaster wanted was to lie down, try to cope with the fact that Sandi didn't really want him anymore and sleep.

But he still had a bullet to fish, wounds to stitch and a sprained wrist and broken ribs to bandage…

 

* * *

 

Drifting from unconsciousness to consciousness, Taskmaster felt that there was this warm and soft and solid thing next to him and a warm and fluffy thing all around him.

He could be a world-famous mercenary, and one of the best and most expensive and one of the most efficient… but damn, he _loved_ feeling warm and cosy. So, whatever that source of warmth was, it was most welcome. With a content sigh, Taskmaster snuggled on the warm and soft and solid thing and curled up a little bit more.

There was the sudden feeling of a knife piercing his right side, and Taskmaster widened his eyes and held his breath; damned broken ribs!

 _Broken ribs…?_ , he frowned under his mask and looked down, to his body. There were elastic bandages around his ribcage and left wrist, and several bandages and gauzes with little bloodstains all over his body. There were a few bruises too, and the throbbing in his right shoulder meant there was a fresh stitch on it.

His foggy brain slowly remembered everything; Deadpool’s «brilliant» plan, his own «brilliant» idea of listening to Deadpool and Sandi showing no interest in taking care of him. That was quite a sad development for an awakening moment that had started so well…

Taskmaster sighed sadly and decided he would stay right there the whole day. Or maybe the whole week. Or maybe hibernate… The fluffy thing around him was a blanket. Taskmaster closed his eyes, snuggled again on the warm and soft and solid thing next to him and, curiously, decided to touch it.

It felt soft but slightly bumpy, and whatever it was tensed a little under his cold hand and there was a soft gasp. Maybe Taskmaster’s, he was already falling asleep again… Damn, whatever that was, he was enjoying touching it. He sighed contently again and ran his hand down that thing.

Then he touched a nipple.

And the next thing Taskmaster knew was that he standing on the floor, eyes wide open, his chest rising and falling way too fast for his broken ribs, while wiping frantically his hand on the side of his black boxers:

“WHAT THE HECK?????” he asked. Yelled.

Deadpool’s mask flashed him a charming smile, peeking from under the fluffy blanket:

“You were having the time of your life...”

“WHY ARE YOU IN MY BED?? NAKED!”

“Uh-uh, I have my boxers on! So, technically I’m not naked!” Deadpool excused and changed to a sitting position.

Taskmaster stumbled backwards until his back was pressed against the closed wardrobe; such a nightmarish vision, Deadpool on his bed while the morning sunbeams cast a pleasant soft light in the room!

_«He looks like he’s going to have a heart stroke!»_

_'You should go there, dude...'_

Deadpool stood up and made his way to Taskmaster, exhibiting his scarred naked body. Partially naked body, since he had boxers. Taskmaster hid his masked face on his hands:

“WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone???” he hissed:

“Chillax, Tony…” Deadpool said in a soft voice and stopped, but that distance probably wasn’t enough to save him from a punch or a kick. “Maybe your yoga ball will help you to remember last night…?”

“Stop talking like that…” Taskmaster wailed, still hiding his face on his hands. “I had a bath… came to my room… dried myself… dressed my boxers… dealt with the result of your plan… and fell asleep. And I was ALONE, Wilson!!” Taskmaster looked at Deadpool, and in that exact moment had the epiphany of installing laser-rays on his contacts:

“Yeah, you fell asleep ALONE… then I came to check on you because I was like… ten minutes or so talking to you through the door and asking if you wanted a pizza for dinner-“

“You eat all my snacks and still have space for a pizza???”

“-but you didn’t answer and the boxes were saying you were bleeding out and I came in to be sure you were fine and you were sleeping but you looked really sad ‘cause you were curled up in a really tiny ball and you were kind of crying or sobbing or talking in your sleep and I thought «I can’t leave Tony like that!» and I spooned you and you uncurled and yeah, your bed is really cool and I fell asleep and woke up with YOUR hand on MY chest,” Deadpool told and took a deep, steadying breath. Taskmaster felt breathless only by hearing.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Taskmaster relaxed a little. The thought of being spooned by a man – Deadpool – was extremely embarrassing… but he felt touched, too. The other mercenary could have left him alone, or could have stabbed him, or could have taken a picture and posted online-:

“You didn’t take a selfie with me, did you?” Taskmaster asked worriedly. “Better, you didn’t take me a picture, right?”

“Sandi and Spiderman will never know about our affair, Tony…” Deadpool assured and winked. Taskmaster sighed tiredly and sneezed. Ouch, his ribs:

“Crap…”

“I can make you pancakes!!” Deadpool clapped his hands in excitement. “And then we can have spicy Mexican food for lunch, it will do wonders to your stuffy nose!”

“I have no stuffy nose…”

“Yet!” Deadpool exclaimed, maybe too happy with the perspective of a sick Taskmaster. “We could cuddle up a little longer before I go make your pancakes!”

Taskmaster blinked his eyes, slowly. He was the cuddly type, yes… but with _Sandi_!! There was quite a big difference between Sandi and Deadpool: Sandi’s skin was soft-soft, Deadpool’s was soft-bumpy; Sandi had velvety hair, Deadpool… well, he probably didn’t even have hair, under that mask; Sandi was his subject of interest, the one he wanted to cuddle up with!, Deadpool… come on, he wasn’t that desperate for attention and human contact!

He was  _Taskmaster_!!

“Keep your nipples away from my hands…” Taskmaster mumbled lowly, defeated. It was Deadpool… but he was nice to cuddle with. Deadpool’s mask cast him an offended stare and he crossed his arms over his chest, protectively:

“Keep your hands away from my nipples!” he replied. “Unless you want to make out!”

Taskmaster cast him _a_ look. With a grunt, he went back to bed and laid on his side, trying to find a position that didn’t bug his ribs that much. It didn’t take long until he felt Deadpool’s body approaching his and finally the other mercenary’s front touched his back.

A moment of silence.

Taskmaster relaxed; he had to admit, Deadpool was comfortable.

Carefully, Deadpool wrapped an arm around Taskmaster’s shoulders:

“Nobody has ever let me be the big spoon!” Deadpool whispered in awe. Taskmaster frowned under his mask. “Well… nobody has ever let me cuddle…”

“I wonder why…” the mercenary with the skull mask said, rolling his eyes; he couldn't have that much patience for Deadpool, could he?:

“Am I that comfy?” Deadpool asked. He sounded so hopeful Taskmaster felt like his pride didn’t have the right to deprive another human being – even if it was Deadpool – from the basic human necessities such as the need of warmth and company. He sighed, glad the mask hid his heavily blushed face:

“Bet you are, DP…”

“Really?”

“Goddamit, I said it once, won’t say it twice!” Then Taskmaster sneezed. Deadpool squealed happily but somehow managed not to tighten his grip around Taskmaster in a brute gesture of affection.

 

* * *

 

The mighty cold arrived in all its glory with fever, a headache, a runny stuffy nose, cough and more sneezing when Taskmaster was about to confess his love for Deadpool’s pancakes.

All considered:

-Taskmaster’s muscles hurt

-Taskmaster’s cuts hurt

-Taskmaster’s ribs were a constant source of pain, especially when he sneezed

-Taskmaster was starting to sneeze constantly

-Taskmaster had fever

-Taskmaster had a headache

-Taskmaster had a runny nose that didn’t go along with the idea of having always a mask on

-Sandi had sent him away and she hadn’t even texted, yet

-Deadpool had made the delicious pancakes in Taskmaster’s beautiful and immaculate kitchen… without a responsible adult’s supervision

-Taskmaster hadn’t cleaned the bathroom, now his beautiful and immaculate white bathroom had dried blood on it

-Taskmaster suddenly realised the fluffy blanket wasn’t a satisficing source of warmth

On the bright side, Taskmaster couldn’t have worse…

With a defeated sigh, Taskmaster removed his mask and rolled the balaclava up his nose. He blew his nose and sighed again:

“Wade?” he called. Deadpool was supposedly washing the dishes. _Supposedly_ because Taskmaster hadn’t heard yet the sound of breaking ware:

“Yes, honey?”

“Nevermind...” Taskmaster blew his nose again. He heard the sound of bare feet running on his beautiful and immaculate carpet (wait a minute, there was a trail of _crumbs_  leaving his room!) and in the blink of an eye Deadpool was already there, in all his partinally naked glory, sitting next to him on the bed and sliding his legs under the blanket:

“Aw Tony… look at you; snotty, wounded and broken-hearted…” the mercenary with the red and black mask said and patted his fellow mercenary on the shoulder:

“You’ve just summed up my life…” Taskmaster grumbled and screw it, he leaned on Deadpool. “I’ve never been this shitty before…”

“I’ve been shittier than you.”

“I believe you…” Taskmaster sneezed, cursed when his ribs ached and blew his nose again. “She didn’t even text…”

“Sandi knows Doctor Wilson will take good care of you.”

They spent some minutes in silence, in which the only sounds were Taskmaster’s noisy breathing, sneezing, coughing and sighing. Then he felt Deadpool move and saw his mask flying heavily to the floor. Taskmaster frowned under the black balaclava:

“Wade, the masks are supposed to stay on… you know, business safety and-“

“We’re having a moment of cuteness!”

“Yeah, but-“

“And I thought that, since you’re in such a fragile moment, I should make myself fragile too so that you won’t feel the woman of the couple.”

“ _What???_ ” Taskmaster asked and changed to an upright position, to look at Deadpool’s face. Deadpool’s extremely serious scarred face.

Taskmaster was completely caught off guard; he was good at reading people, he had to, otherwise he would never be able to do exactly as they did. And since he was so good at reading people, he could tell he had never seen so much honesty and good-will and _sadness_ in just a pair of eyes. For a moment, Taskmaster wondered how many times had Deadpool have the chance to help someone not in a job, but in life.

Deadpool looked away, disturbed with the other man’s glowing orange eyes scanning his exposed face like that:

“Yeah, I know I look like the dark side of the moon where the Nazis live…” he mumbled:

“What?? Do the Red Skull and Crossbones have a base on the moon??” Taskmaster asked, between surprised and hopeful because really, the moon is such a perfect lair for a badass villain! And it’s an even more perfect place to kick said villain’s ass and profit, or take a job from said villain and go there to get his money! Yet Taskmaster shook his head. “I mean… no! Man, I thought your face was like… seriously deformed or something like that… it’s fine, really.”

“Are you wooing me??” Deadpool turned his face to look at Taskmaster so quickly his neck made an ominous snapping sound.

Taskmaster sighed and leaned on Deadpool again:

“Contrary to popular belief, I have feelings and principles; I’m not wooing you, I’m telling you the truth…”

“I know you have feelings, you’re snuggling on me again!” Deadpool exclaimed proudly, with a smile too wide to be humanly possible. Taskmaster sneezed and allowed the other mercenary to wrap an arm around his shoulders again. “You big softy…”

“I wish I could grow a healing factor just by looking at you growing limbs again…” Taskmaster sighed sadly and allowed himself to close his eyes.

Screw it, he would have Deadpool coming over more often…


	3. In which Taskmaster hits the bottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late! ;-; And thank you guys for the kudos!

“That’s it, we’re having Mexican food for lunch!” Deadpool exclaimed when Taskmaster, for the umpteenth time that morning, sneezed and had to blow his nose _exactly_ when the Aliens guy was saying something important.

Taskmaster just grumbled miserably and sighed, resting his head on Deadpool’s lap. By this time his eye-contacts were gone, and only the balaclava, rolled up his nose, still hid his face:

“I don’t feel like eating…” Taskmaster mumbled and sneezed and blew his nose again. “Augh… what did he say about the pyramids?”

“If you sneezed like Ant-Man, I’d have heard!!” Deadpool complained:

“What?”

“Exactly! Look at the guy, copy his shrinking ability and shrink everytime you’re gonna sneeze!! You’ll save a fortune in tissues and you won’t disturb our TV moments!”

Taskmaster opened his mouth to reply, but instead of speaking he coughed. Deadpool sighed sadly, reached for the remote next to them and switched off the TV:

“Bed. Now.”

_«Uh, dominant!»_

_‘Kinky bastard…’_

“Shut up!” Deadpool grumbled:

“But I didn’t-“

“Hush, little Tasky! It’s the boxes! They don’t understand we can’t have a session of BDSM with you like that! It would be too easy for me!”

“That is NEVER going to happen!” Taskmaster complained and sneezed again. Slowly, he pushed himself up, ignoring the throbbing in his ribs. Deadpool stood up and offered his hand to the other mercenary, to help him to stand up:

“Never say never, Tasks. Which is quite stupid, because when you say «never say never» you’re repeating «never» twice and-“ The opening theme of «The Golden Girls» filled the room, and Deadpool smiled widely. Taskmaster grunted:

“Lame…”

“ ’course, Mr. Cuddles,” Deadpool replied and then magically he had his cell phone in hand. Taskmaster groaned:

“Please tell me you didn’t keep that in your boxers and that you have magic powers- “ A powerful sneeze. “-augh… magic powers that allow you to summon cell phones with crappy music…”

“If you weren’t sick and hadn’t owies I’d teach you properly to respect _this_ song and _that_ show and _THAT_ woman!” Deadpool exclaimed, jabbing a menacing index finger on Taskmaster’s chest. Then he turned around and answered the phone. “Deadpool Inc., what can I do for you?”

Taskmaster rolled his eyes and slowly made his way to the bedroom, since Deadpool was now too busy talking on the phone. Taskmaster was feeling cold, maybe dressing the pyjama would be a good idea.

The unfortunate mercenary got in his room and opened the wardrobe. A sneeze and cough. Pain in his ribcage. Taskmaster opened one of the drawers and picked up a dark blue winter pyjama and winter socks. Dressing as faster and as painlessly possible, Taskmaster then crawled to the bed and covered himself to the neck with the fluffy blanket. Another sneeze and a resigned sigh:

“Wade?” he called. Deadpool answered from the living room:

“Gimme a minute, sweetheart!”

“No Cheetos in my bed, or biscuits, or food in general!” Taskmaster replied and coughed. “And the next time you call me that I’ll shoot your sorry head!”

“Sure thing, Taskcuddle,” the other mercenary giggled and danced into the room. Taskmaster presumed it was the death of the swan, a horribly painful death. “Taskcuddle… Cuddlemaster… Master of Cuddling… Task of Cuddler…”

“Stop that…”

“Tony Cuddles!”

Taskmaster was going to protest but a cough attack silenced him. Deadpool sat at the edge of the bed and poked the end of Taskmaster’s exposed and reddened nose:

“I have a job,” Deadpool announced in a more serious tone. Taskmaster coughed harder and his bright brown eyes filled with tears:

“You wha-“ More cough and a mighty sneeze. Pain in the broken ribcage. “-what?”

“I have a job, Tasky. Cuddly. Cuddsky.”

“I hope you get shot! And dismembered! And thrown into the river and eaten by Attuma’s men…” Taskmaster grumbled, sniffled and pulled the balaclava down, hurrying to hide the pout forming on his lips. Really, even _Deadpool_ was leaving him alone! Not that it mattered, Taskmaster was a grown up man, a responsible adult, he understood his fellow mercenary (way poorer than him, by the way…) had to go to work…

But _really_?? _Now_???

Deadpool stood up and walked to the door:

“Don’t worry, Cuddsky! I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll bring Mexican food for your stuffy nose!” Then Deadpool turned around and offered Taskmaster the same stern look a mother would give her son. “Take some magical medicine for the fever, eat your veggies, don’t watch TV until late and don’t open the door to strangers! There’s still pancake dough in the fridge, sweetums, ” Deadpool blew a kiss and vanished.

Little later, Taskmaster heard him shout “BOXES, ASSEMBLE!” and the frontdoor opening and closing.

Alone again, Taskmaster sighed and tried to get some sleep to make the fever leave.

* * *

 

The fever didn’t leave and even called for backup. Taskmaster wondered if one of the cuts, or even the bullet wound, weren’t infected. But right now he could barely open his eyes, so all he did was wail and hide his head under the pillow.

It had been only a couple of hours after Deadpool had left, and the mercenary with the blue pyjama could barely believe he was _eager_ to have the other man back; the company, the warmth, the rambling nonsense that actually helped him to forget about how sore and miserable he was… and Taskmaster was really thirsty but damn, he didn’t want to stand up and go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water.

Someone rang the bell.

Slowly, Taskmaster stood up and waddled to the door. Maybe it was Deadpool, the guy knew how to be efficient sometimes… or maybe it was Sandi! He sneezed, blew his nose, coughed and opened the door.

It was Sandi, who widened her eyes in surprise before the exposed lower-half of Taskmaster’s face and the lack of eye-contacts. The mercenary smiled widely and stepped aside, inviting her in. With a sigh, Sandi stepped into Taskmaster’s apartment and he closed the door:

“Sandi! How are you? What are you doing here?” he asked excitedly and coughed. “Wad- there is pancake dough in the fridge, do you want to-“

“You lied to me, Tony…” Sandi stated, rummaging her bag:

“Uh?”

“You lied to me, again,” The woman sighed and took her cell phone from her bag. She did something on it, then handed it to Taskmaster.

The mercenary frowned under his balaclava; why was she showing him a YouTube page of this… HydraHailBob guy…?:

“Uh… lame name?” he tried and sneezed. Sandi sighed and facepalmed:

“Tony, that guy has a video of you and Mr. Wilson fighting-“

“That’s old!”

“-the same day you showed up wounded at my door…”

Taskmaster widened his eyes and clicked the most recent video. Yeah, that was him kicking Deadpool and being kicked in return. He coughed and narrowed his eyes, reading the comments.

_«HydraHailBob: go go go mr.d awesome!»_

_«bull_s_eye: lmao taskmaster»_

_«CrossB@nes: teacher u gettin old»_ (“Rumlow, you little-!!”)

_«IronStarkMan: looool»_

_«rino»_ (“He can’t even type his own name!”) _«rino: lol lmao die wilson buut if u kill him taskmaster i’ll kill u 2 cause I want 2 kill wilson»_

“Don’t these people have a life?? That freaking Iron Man should be doing heroic stuff instead of commenting a stupid video on YouTube!!” Taskmaster exclaimed, aggrieved, and coughed:

“You lied to me, Tony!” Sandi said angrily and snatched the cell phone from Taskmaster’s hands. The mercenary offered her the saddest puppy eyes ever, and he hoped that, now that he didn’t have his eye-contacts on, it would be more effective:

“Wilson volunteered to kick me around… maybe you’d care about me, then…” Taskmaster explained shyly.

Sandi blinked her eyes, slowly, then sighed and reached out to hold the mercenary’s hands. Big, cold hands that she squeezed affectionately:

“Tony, you’re a great guy. _Really_. But… you lied to me, from the beginning and until now.”

“I never lied to you! I just… hid stuff…” Taskmaster replied and looked down, like a kid whose mother was lecturing him. Sandi sighed and let go of his hands:

“How can I love you if you don’t trust me?” she asked sadly and turned her back to leave. “I’m having a talk with Mr. Wilson, when he comes back. My life is my own business."

Sandi left and closed the door. The mercenary stood there for a moment, feeling his heart sink slowly yet feeling strangely calm. Maybe it was the fever making his feelings numb. Or maybe it was his subconscious that already knew Sandi would never give him a second chance. Or maybe it was his common-sense that knew from the beginning Deadpool’s plan wasn’t going to work. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to feel sorry for himself and cry his eyes out again.

So Taskmaster went to eat a couple of pancakes, but cooking with a sprained wrist wasn't easy and he wasn't in the mood to accept a challenge. He just took a medicine to lower the fever and went to sleep.

* * *

 

When he woke up, he immediately felt an arm wrapped around his waist. He glanced over his shoulder to see Deadpool’s unmasked head occupying his pillow, looking at him with a cocky smile:

“I must be really in my worst day, I didn’t notice you lying down…” Taskmaster mumbled… then turned around, frowning, and jabbed an index finger on Deadpool’s naked chest. “In fact… how did you get in, in the first place???”

“I pronounced Abracadabra correctly and Smaug let me in to see his treasure,” the scarred mercenary explained and poked the end of Taskmaster’s reddened nose with a finger:

“Wilson…”

“And I made moneis and I brought foodeys Mexicaneys for your noseys!!” Deadpool chirped happily and hugged his fellow mercenary tightly:

“Wils-… are you naked???”

Deadpool simply smiled and petted Taskmaster’s head. Taskmaster just sighed and realised he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore; at least there was _someone_ for him. He felt his eyes sting. He hated that. He wrapped his arms around Deadpool and hid his face on the crook of his neck. Saying goodbye to what was left of his pride in a really manly way, Taskmaster allowed a sob to shake his body and the tears to run free down his face.

Deadpool froze as he felt Taskmaster’s tears on his skin. He knew the other mercenary wasn’t okay… but reaching _this point_? Allowing him to see _this_ , to _live this_? The scarred mercenary felt suddenly touched, because nobody had let him that close. Nobody had let him _be there_.

He felt touched and scared. What was he supposed to do? Wade had absolutely no idea of how to comfort someone, and even though he really wanted to crack a joke or two to ease the mood… it just didn’t feel right. He bit his lower lip nervously and tightened his embrace around the other mercenary, and started to move one of his hands in circles, between Taskmaster’s shoulder blades:

“You’ll be fine, Tony… I promise,” Deadpool mumbled in a strangely smooth voice. The other man just sobbed harder and twitched a little, feeling his ribs sting painfully at each sob.

They stood like that for a long while, until Taskmaster was too exhausted to keep crying and ended up falling asleep again. His head ached terribly from the fever and from crying, and the pain in his ribcage was becoming too intense.

When Deadpool noticed the mercenary with the blue pyjama had fallen asleep, he sighed sadly and, carefully, arranged Taskmaster’s sprained wrist to be in a more comfortable position:

“That’s you, the killer who cares…” he mumbled to the other man. He had no idea of what time was it; he had arrived at dawn with an empty stomach, so his utterly hungry stomach wouldn’t be very useful in helping him out with the time. Deadpool hesitated for a moment; he wanted to eat, seriously, he was starving… but he didn’t want to leave his fellow mercenary alone. Waking up a depressed, wounded and heartbroken Taskmaster didn’t sound correct, either.

With a resigned sigh, Deadpool rolled over his back and pulled Taskmaster closer; he could think about how to help his «frenemy» while waiting for said «frenemy» to wake up!

_«Amusement park!»_

_‘Cinema!’_

_«Strip club!»_

_‘Hot steamy sex in the bathtub!’_

_«Tantric massage!»_

_‘World domination!’_

Deadpool waved a hand in the air, dismissing his boxes. He frowned, thinking… then it hit him; he could talk to Sandi! Yes, it was a glorious idea! He would talk to her and explain her that dating Taskmaster was much better than dating the freak with the X scars:

“Tasky doesn’t tell bad jokes, he has a great place, lots of moneis, glorious pecs, a six pack to kill for and a bum to die for! He’s perfect!” Deadpool concluded animatedly and decided Taskmaster had had enough sleep. He tickled the other mercenary’s neck. “Hey, Tasky! Tasky!”

Taskmaster stirred a little and moved his head away from the crook of Deadpool’s neck:

“Uh?”

“Rise and shine, gorgeous! There’s Mexican food waiting for us, and I’m afraid we’ll have to warm it up in the microwave.”

“I don’t feel like eating…” Taskmaster grumbled. He just wanted to stay there, in his bed, with that great source of human heat and highly cuddling thing that was Deadpool. The scarred mercenary came up with some pretty convincing puppy eyes. With a groan, Taskmaster rolled over his back. “Can we eat here…? I don’t feel like leaving my bed, right now…”

“Aw Tony, I thought you didn’t want food in our love nest!”

Taskmaster turned his head to look at Deadpool, slowly, narrowing his puffy reddened brown eyes in a quite menacing way. Or sexy, considered the balaclava covering his face and Deadpool’s exquisite taste:

“Room service costs one intense Frrrrrrrench kiss,” Deadpool informed with an exaggerated French accent and jumped to the floor. Taskmaster just sighed.  

 

 


	4. In which Taskmaster feels better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooo sorry for the late, but college kept me busy. ;-;  
> And honestly, thank you all lovely people who left kudos and comments!! Please, keep up the good work!  
> Now... only one chapter to go! :D

Two days later and Taskmaster wasn’t feeling _that_ miserable anymore. Still a little downcast, but at least his injuries didn’t bother him that much anymore and Deadpool hadn’t broken any dish (yet).

In fact, Taskmaster found himself enjoying Deadpool’s company more than he should; despite never shutting up, the other mercenary wasn’t bad at all, and with patience and a lot of instructions he could even keep the house minimally clean.

As for Deadpool, Taskmaster’s depression was the best thing that had ever happened. He had never felt so _useful_ before, and knowing he was doing the right thing and helping someone made him feel great.

* * *

 

The two of them were playing Doom when Deadpool’s phone rang:

“Yellow?” the scarred mercenary asked.

“Mr. Wilson?” It was Sandi. “I have a pay-check for you.”

“Not now, Tony’s score is better than mine and I can’t allow that! We can’t let depressed people have all they want, or they’ll become pricks!”

“I have no fault you suck, Wade,” Taskmaster chuckled:

“But on the other hand… with that pay-check, I can take Tony to a fancy restaurant! I’ll be right there, Sandi!” Besides, it was the perfect opportunity to convince her to go back to Taskmaster. Deadpool hung the phone and turned around to face his fellow mercenary. “Master of Cuddles, I’m gonna get moneis and then we’re both going to that fancy new restaurant! Fancy food brings happiness!!”

Taskmaster sighed and looked away from the game to Deadpool. He shook his head, slowly:

“I don’t feel like going out… And seriously, Wade; the two of us going to a fancy restaurant? Hell no!”

“It’s not like I’m trying to get in your pants, it’s just a bro date!”

“It’s not safe!”

“Fine, we don’t go to the fancy restaurant!” Deadpool pouted and stood up to go dress his suit. “You’ve hurt me deeply, Tony! I’ve always wanted to go to a fancy restaurant with a hot partner!”

Taskmaster sighed patiently and stood up too, following Deadpool into the bedroom. Taskmaster’s once immaculate bedroom. Now it had various items of Deadpool scattered all over the floor, like parts of the suit, boots, weapons…:

“I don’t want trouble, Wade… it’s just that.”

Deadpool stopped his struggle with his suit to point an accusing finger to Taskmaster, with the most hurt expression in the world:

“You’re ashamed of me!!”

“No, I’m not…” Taskmaster sighed patiently and made his way to the wardrobe. He opened it and picked up a little key from a secret hiding-place. Then he went to the chest near the window and opened it to pick a pair of what looked like futuristic wristbands. “Here, you can borrow these.”

“New toys!! What’s that??” Deadpool chirped happily and clapped his hands excitedly:

“Web-shooters.”

“Oh Tony, I love you so much!”

* * *

 

Sandi knew a lot could happen with Deadpool, but she really wasn’t expecting him to show up shooting webs to the ceiling and dangling happily from web to web:

“Look out, I’m Spiderpool! The combination of Spidey skills and Deadpool greatness, not the fanfiction material!” the mercenary with the red and black suit announced as he approached Sandi’s counter. “Oh wait… but that’s _exactly_ what Spiderpool fanfics are made of…!”

Sandi politely ignored him and handed him an envelope with a pay-check inside:

“Mr. Wilson, that looks like one of Tony’s tech toys,” the woman stated and giggled when Deadpool tried to catch the envelope with webs but missed the target, catching Sandi’s arm instead:

“He said I could!” Deadpool tried again and victory was achieved! The envelope flew to his hand and he made it disappear inside a leg pouch. “Tony is a great guy, why don’t you go back to him? He's an adorable dork!” Sandi adopted an annoyed expression and looked at the computer screen before her, finding it suddenly more interesting that the mercenary hanging from the ceiling. “I know he has some trust issues, but with patience love conquers all and-“

“No,” Sandi replied dryly.

* * *

 

Taskmaster walked in the kitchen and felt suddenly happy for no reason. Honestly he couldn’t remember the last time he cooked, in the past days he hadn’t been exactly in the mood for it. But cooking was something he liked to do; his power allowed him to easily make fancy things like a real chef… but the easy things were something he had _learned_ by himself, reading culinary books or simply putting back together memories of his childhood, when he sometimes watched his mother cook, or trying new things.

His favourite dish as a child was spaghetti carbonara, and in that precise moment he felt like cooking it for him and Deadpool. He smiled under the skull mask, already anticipating the other mercenary’s happiness for having someone cooking for him, especially if that meant sharing another bit of Taskmaster’s life.

 

When Taskmaster’s culinary mission was almost finished, he heard a low TUD! coming from the living room. With an amused grin, he peeked from the kitchen, and across the living room, squashed on the full-length window, was Deadpool. Taskmaster shook his head and went to help his fellow mercenary before whatever anti-gravity ability that was keeping him against the window gave away:

“Damn your window, T! The glass is so clean I thought the window was open!!” Deadpool excused when Taskmaster, going to the balcony, helped him climbing the parapet. The mercenary with the red and black suit then waved his arms in the air, like possessed noodles. “Can I keep the web-shooters??”

“No, Wade…”

“Can I ask Santa for a pair of web-shooters like yours?”

“Yeah, but you have to behave until then,” Taskmaster smiled and turned his back to Deadpool, then walked into the house. The other mercenary followed him like an excited puppy:

“Tasky, you sound happy! To be honest, I’ve never heard you so… **so happy** before! You’re not being sarcastic and you’re not offending me and you’re not crying!”

Taskmaster frowned under his mask, suddenly alarmed that Deadpool had realised that when he was wearing the skull mask.

The skull mask was supposed to protect him from the others, to stop them from knowing what was going on with him. And yet, Deadpool _knew_ … and Taskmaster was the only one to blame, for letting the other mercenary _know_.

He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts and being left alone with Deadpool’s non-stop monologue on how they could make fun stuff now that he was feeling better. Deadpool’s monologue only stopped abruptly when they reached the kitchen, and the mercenary with the red and black suit sniffed the air exaggeratedly:

“Hmm, it smells good!”

_«Yeah, it smells good!»_

_'He didn’t cook for you, drop that smile!'_

“I’m not smiling!!” Deadpool exclaimed, outraged, because damn, he was smiling. Taskmaster looked at him, raising an eyebrow under his mask:

“Uh?”

“It’s the boxes!!! They’re annoying!!! Especially the stupid one that keeps kicking me in the balls!!!” Deadpool waved his fist in the air. “WHY CAN’T THE BOXES LET ME BE HAPPY??”

Taskmaster supposed his fellow mercenary was hungry. He sighed and made his way to the stove to check on the food:

“Whatever, Wade. Go undress that, lunch is almost ready.”

Deadpool was going to reply with a witty comeback related with «undressing», but all he did was stare at Taskmaster, wearing a pair of black boxers and blue socks and his mask, and gape in a way no normal human would be able to:

“You said... you said lunch is almost ready…?” he repeated in a whisper, afraid that, if he spoke louder, the lunch might run away. Taskmaster’s masked head turned slowly to him:

“Yes…?”

“Tony, did you cook for us?” Deadpool asked in awe. Taskmaster shrugged:

“Yeah…? Dude, I like cooking so I figured-“ But the mercenary with the skull mask didn’t get to finish the sentence, as he was nearly smashed by Deadpool’s emotional embrace.

_MY RIBS!!!_

 

* * *

 

“Tony, you know what would make this day perfect?” Deadpool waltzed into the room; after lunch Taskmaster had crawled back to his fluffy bed, hoping that lying down would calm down the pain coming from his ribs. Taskmaster’s mood wasn’t ruined, though, and he patiently put down the book he was reading:

“To know you still haven’t broken a dish? To know my kitchen isn’t flooded?”

“Going on a date!!” Deadpool chirped happily and opened his arms, accidentally smacking Taskmaster’s ribcage. The mercenary with the skull mask grumbled something and wrapped his arms around his torso, protecting himself:

“I don’t feel like going out…”

“But it’s a beautiful day outside!!”

“It’s a beautiful day inside, too.”

“But Taskcuddle, if you don’t go out to make some exercise, you’ll be fat!!”

_«We like fat, don’t we??»_

_'Bet we do, man!!'_

“But a six-pack is more interesting that a one-pack!!”

Taskmaster watched, bewildered, the argument between Deadpool and his boxes. Okay, maybe they _should_ go out, Deadpool was certainly in need of fresh air. Fine, they were going out. Taskmaster knew a quiet, small park nearby and –

* * *

 

“This is not what I had in mind…” Taskmaster growled, utterly annoyed.

“Central Park is way better that that Comic-Con of shrubs you tried to take me to!” Deadpool exclaimed excitedly as they crossed the gate.

Taskmaster didn’t like that; Central Park was _huge_ and had too many people, someone could see them, someone could attack them, and he wasn’t at 100% to defend himself and Deadpool and… _Was Deadpool holding hands with him????_ He pulled back like the other mercenary had electrocuted him:

“ **Wade**!!!!” Taskmaster hissed threateningly. Deadpool smiled innocently; the mask was expressive, but his bare face, framed by the red hood of his Deadpool hoodie, was even more:

“What? I don’t bite… but I can, if you want!” Taskmaster facepalmed and the other mercenary giggled. “Tony… relax. We’re just in Central Park, what could possibly go wrong?”

Taskmaster actually opened his mouth to speak; there were infinite possibilities for things going wrong when Deadpool was involved… but he didn’t have the guts to say it. Looking at how _happy_ the other mercenary was, Taskmaster felt like he didn’t have the right to ruin that. Deadpool had been putting up with him without complaining… so the best he could do was give _that_ to him. Taskmaster sighed:

“No holding hands, ok…?” he asked:

“And if accidentally my hand brushes yours?”

“Well, since it was an accident…”

Deadpool grinned like a fool and they proceed their walk. It was a sunny day, but Taskmaster and Deadpool, both wearing combat boots, jeans and hoodies, weren’t bothered by it.

They walked until they reached a lake with ducks, and Deadpool’s brown eyes shone in excitement:

“DUCKS!!!” He started shaking Taskmaster by the shoulder. “LOOK TASKY, DUCKS!!!”

“Yes yes, DP!!” Taskmaster agreed, but couldn’t help smiling. They approached the lake and Deadpool kneeled on the ground, looking at the ducks like they were the most precious things in the world. Then… he removed a plastic bag with bread from his pocket, and Taskmaster frowned. “Why-why are you constantly summoning things?? How can you do that??”

“Ask the author of this story, she was going to give me a backpack, but she forgot about it and was too lazy to change the text to include the backpack,” Deadpool shrugged. Taskmaster just stared at him, confused, then Deadpool smiled and handed him a piece of bread. “You wanna feed the duckies, too?”

“Uh…” Taskmaster looked at his bandaged wrist and flexed his fingers, then smiled. “I guess I can do that.”

They resumed to that innocent activity that was feeding ducks. Taskmaster, while throwing little pieces of bread to the water and watching the ducks go after it, thought that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad day.

Then someone cleared his throat behind them, and both mercenaries turned around to see who it was.

The Avengers were looking at them, and they weren’t amused by the sight of Taskmaster and Deadpool feeding ducks.

The scarred mercenary widened his eyes:

“OhmyfuckinggodtheAVENGERS!!!” he exclaimed hysterically, the episode of being kicked out of the Avengers Tower already forgiven and forgotten. “IT’S FUCKING STEVE ROGERS!!!”

“Deadpool,” Captain America acknowledged. “Taskmaster.”

“Guys, did you know he’s secretly a Nazi???” Deadpool asked excitedly, making everybody frown. Taskmaster hurried to cover his fellow’s mouth with a hand:

“What?” he asked, annoyed. “We’re just feeding ducks, there’s no sign telling us not to feed the ducks, so we’re not committing any crime.”

Captain America was momently speechless, and that was Iron Man’s cue to step forward and point a threatening index finger at the two mercenaries:

“There are civilians here, you better not be planning a shenanigan!”  he warned. Deadpool managed to free himself from Taskmaster’s hand:

“Your husband’s a Nazi, how’s that shenanigan??” he replied before Taskmaster covered his mouth again. Behind Iron Man, Captain America blushed, utterly confused:

“We’re just feeding ducks, for fuck’s sake! Piss off and let us be,” Taskmaster said with his usual cool demeanour.

The Avengers looked at each other, then Captain America nodded:

“We’ll be watching you,” he assured before Iron Man held him by the waist and took off. Deadpool managed to get free once more:

“Did you see that Nazi voyeur??” he complained.

_«Kinky.»_

_'Creepy…'_

“What Nazi, what are you talking about??? It’s _Steve Rogers_ , _Captain America_ , the guy who does everything right!!” Taskmaster shook his head and turned around to face the ducks again. “The guy’s so correct he’s **boring**.”

“I’m telling you he’s a Nazi…” Deadpool grumbled, but went silent again and threw more pieces of bread to the ducks.

Taskmaster just sighed patiently, reminding himself that, despite being actually saner than what most people thought, Deadpool wasn’t _completely_ sane.

And just went the two mercenaries thought they would feed the ducks in peace, little later someone spoke behind them:

“Wilson!”

Deadpool and Taskmaster glanced behind… just to see Rhino charging towards Deadpool.

* * *

 

“What a day…!” Deadpool exclaimed at night, absently tracing circle-like patterns on Taskmaster’s face, hidden under the balaclava he wore under the mask.

Taskmaster was speechless; Rhino had attacked Deadpool at the park, who had obviously fought back, and in the blink of an eye the Avengers where there fighting Rhino AND  Deadpool… all before Taskmaster, who did nothing besides observing, stupefied, only to be kicked out of Central Park by the Avengers, together with Rhino and Deadpool under Deadpoool’s hysterical screams of «THE NAZIS ARE TAKING OVER!», which attracted Crossbones, who was jogging nearby and thought the Red Skull was unleashing an infallible plan to take over the world without his aid, and Crossbones’ appearance resulted on him remembering he had «unfinished» business with Deadpool, which resulted in Crossbones and Rhino fighting because they both had «unfinished» business with Deadpool and they both wanted to finish it, and their fight was the perfect opportunity for Deadpool to simply walk away, dragging a dumbfounded Taskmaster behind, and the next thing Taskmaster knew was that they were at Deadpool’s favourite Mexican restaurant.

And now they were there, cuddling, semi-naked, in Taskmaster’s bed:

“Yeah… what a day…!” Taskmaster finally exclaimed:

“We gotta do this more often, Tasks!”

“No, thanks…”

They resumed to a companionable silence and Taskmaster unconsciously moved a bit closer to Deadpool. The hand on his face came to a halt and came to rest on his chest:

“Tony?” Deadpool called:

“Yeah, Wade?”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Deadpool changed to a sitting position, frowning, and Taskmaster noticed his fellow mercenary had a sad expression on his scarred face:

“So… you’ll go back to normal… and… and… you won’t need me anymore,” Deadpool mumbled, looking down.

Taskmaster frowned and changed to a sitting position too, and held Deadpool’s chin between his thumb and index finger and forced the other man to look at him. He was met with Deadpool’s teary eyes, and for moments he was unable to speak. Then slowly, he caressed that scarred face, already familiar with the feeling of soft but bumpy skin:

“Hey Wade… who told you that? The boxes?” Taskmaster asked softly. Deadpool blinked away the tears, that rolled down his cheeks:

“No, I told myself that… We’ll go back to being frenemies once… once _this_ is over.”

Taskmaster just hummed and dried a tear with his thumb. In a normal situation yeah, he would be glad if his relationship with Deadpool resumed to them being «frenemies». However, he had learned that Deadpool, the crazy mercenary that nobody could stand, was probably the purest soul in the world. Taskmaster had learned that under the layer of banter and bad jokes was a fragile man looking for his place in the world, who only wanted to help, who wanted to have friends in whom he could trust… and friends who would trust him and _need_ him.

Taskmaster smiled briefly; he and Deadpool weren’t that different, afterall…

“What if we’re friends instead of frenemies?” he asked. “What if _this_ doesn’t necessarily ends, what if you can crash at my place for no good reason, what if I still like to cuddle up with you, what if I stop being a bit less paranoid about exposing myself?”

Deadpool looked at him, eyes wide in surprise, and for a moment he didn’t believe it was real. For a moment, he couldn’t believe Taskmaster, the professional mercenary, a world-top gun for hire, had really said _that_. Though he knew the man behind the skull mask had feelings, for a moment he couldn’t believe _he_ would be allowed to see more than most people could. Then he smiled, a smile too big to be humanly possible, and wrapped his arms around Taskmaster and planted a sloppy and quite brute kiss on his lips:

“Oh Tony, yes!! I’ll marry you!!” he said against the other man’s lips. Taskmaster managed to push himself free and he wasn’t sure of what to do first; if scream in pain because, _his ribs_!!!!, if rubbing away Deadpool’s droll form his lips. “Can I see your face now??”

“No…” Taskmaster grumbled, opting by wiping away the drool first.


	5. In which fluffiness occurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this took a while to update, uh? :'D My bad, I'm really sorry about it.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is just fluff - and it's much shorter than all the others (yeah, sorry about it as well but hey, at least is a happy ending!)
> 
> I thank you all again for all the support and I hope you enjoy the final. :)

“… and then I shot them!!!” Wade told excitedly, and to better describe the gore than ensued the shot, he squeezed vigorously a small package of ketchup over his fries. “And I went home and woke up Tony because I forgot the keys…”

“You don’t have the keys to my place, ‘Pool…” Taskmaster corrected quietly and stole a handful of Deadpool’s fries. The other mercenary paid him no attention and proceeded with his sacrifice of packages of ketchup to the French fries gods – eventually spilling ketchup everywhere.

Sandi nodded politely, and though she really liked Wilson, she was already regretting having invited him and Taskmaster to lunch with her. True, she appreciated their company and they made her laugh, but she had no idea Deadpool was **this messy** when it came to food. It was really surprising that Taskmaster, so tidy and organised, merely sighed and shrugged at the mess Deadpool was doing. On the other hand – and the thought made Sandi smile widely – it meant that the two mercenaries were finally close friends, and now that she knew Taskmaster wasn’t alone anymore and had someone to look after him, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

Taskmaster’s mighty depression had been two months ago, and he had been normal – visibly cheerful, even – since then.

Indeed, Taskmaster was finally accepting the fact that Deadpool was his friend. Probably his _best friend_. The friend he couldn’t stand, while at the same time being the friend he would immediately turn to. So far, nobody had tried to use Deadpool to get revenge on him, and he was glad for it and willing to see for how long things would remain like that.

After lunch, Sandi went back to work while Deadpool and Taskmaster, both recently returned from separate missions, headed back home.

Deadpool, driving his little red motorbike around the city with Taskmaster sitting behind him and clinging to his waist for dear life, was already a familiar sight. That didn’t stop the occasional villain or super-hero to take them a picture and turn them into a meme, but Taskmaster learned to deal with the mockery as free publicity.

And Deadpool, the hyperactive manchild, the friend nobody wanted, was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept that he had a _home,_ now (even if he didn’t have the keys). But more important that a roof above his head, he had someone he could count on, someone who would cuddle up with him and let him play football with a yoga ball (as long as it was inside the gym).

* * *

 

Leaving Deadpool watching cartoons with a bowl of Cheetos on a hand and a glass of iced tea on the other was a great strategy to enjoy a relaxing bath. This way, Taskmaster didn’t need to worry about his housemate’s shenanigans (like trying to join Taskmaster in the full bathtub or playing with his high-tech weapons) and could comfortably take all the time he needed to shave and bathe.

After Taskmaster was done with his bath, it was Deadpool’s turn. Upon hearing the other mercenary leave the bathroom, Deadpool switched off the TV and rushed to the bedroom (Taskmaster had long given up on drying himself up and getting dressed in quiet privacy) to fetch himself clothes, armbands, a float and a snorkeling mask. By now Taskmaster had already learned not to ask what were those for/where did they come from/where did Deadpool store them (because Tony Masters, the mercenary who liked everything clean and neat and organised, had already gone on a fruitless hunt for the secret stash of pool items – that he had presumed to be the peak of disorganisation – and had found… _nothing_ , which had led him to conclude that perhaps Deadpool did have summoning powers) and he simply marveled at how _every damn time_ his mercenary friend had different items.

So far, Taskmaster’s favourite was the pink unicorn float.

While Deadpool took a bath, Taskmaster took care of dinner. He was pleasantly surprised to find out he could make the other mercenary cooperate with him in house-keeping, but Deadpool had not been made to be in the kitchen and do something other than eating. And because Taskmaster had no wish of seeing a human finger on the vegetable cutting board ever again, doing all the cooking by himself seemed like a fair price to pay. It was also great not having someone constantly whirling around him like a hurricane, talking excitedly and wanting to taste every little thing that would become a proper meal once cooked – like that one time Deadpool ate a raw shrimp that Taskmaster was marinating…

When the roasted vegetables pasta was almost ready, Deadpool danced into the kitchen – and other thing that still confused Taskmaster was the variety of pyjamas Deadpool showed up with and that probably originated from the same infinite and untraceable source as his bathing accessories.

And Taskmaster, looking at the Avengers pyjama his housemate was currently wearing, began to consider trying his luck in the market with his own merchandise. The thought of a Taskmaster paper-weight was particularly appealing…

“Tony, honey, what did you made for us?” Deadpool asked cheerfully, peeking over his friend’s shoulder to see him add a bit more seasoning to the roasted vegetables in a wok. Wrapping an arm around Taskmaster’s waist from behind, Deadpool used his other arm to reach forwards and try to pick up a particularly appealing cherry tomato.

But even in the kitchen, Tony Masters was still Taskmaster, and he expertly twisted the greedy hand threatening the vegetables in the wok. Repeatedly grumbling «Bad Tasky, bad!» under his breath, Deadpool backed away and went to set the kitchen table for dinner.

By now, Taskmaster knew better than yelling at Deadpool, or try to reason with him, or use extreme violence: little twists on the joints at unexpected times were enough for Deadpool to understand he shouldn’t do it. Also, the sprayer bottle had been particularly helpful during the process of training Deadpool not to throw the couch pillows to the floor when he wanted to lie down with his head on Taskmaster’s lap…

All in all, they were learning to live with each other – Taskmaster leaning to share his privacy and Deadpool going through intensive training on how to live in a proper house and not destroy it.

They had dinner talking quietly to each other, with occasional outbursts from Deadpool as he yelled at his boxes that vegetables were not sentient beings and that pancakes were a much better breakfast than pizza. Taskmaster simply sighed and ignored, already used to the boxes - the other mercenary had already explained them to him, and Taskmaster had translated the explanation to English as opinative and imaginary consciences.

But since they had started living together, the boxes were gradually becoming less and less interventive in Deadpool’s life. Especially in his self-esteem.

After having dinner and watching TV for a while, they went to bed.

Deadpool lied flat on his back, spreading his limbs like a star-fish, and Taskmaster lied next to him, resting his head on the other mercenary’s scarred – and naked - chest: the Avengers pyjama was abandoned on the floor and all Deadpool had left were Batman boxers.

Taskmaster’s mask and balaclava were gone as well, and he opened a book to read aloud:

“Are we getting to the part where Gandalf fights the Balrog??” Deadpool asked excitedly. Having watched The Lord of the Rings had been great, but Tony reading it to him was even better. He had a nice, soothing narrator’s voice, but could also make different voices for each character, and that made the reading much more captivating.

“You said yourself you didn’t want spoilers, ‘Pool…” Taskmaster replied, clearing his throat. Nevermind the movies had already been seen... Deapool flailed his arms and legs for a moment:

“Awww, that’s not what I meant and that’s not what spoilers mean, Tasksmarty!!!!!” he whined, but went immediately still and attentive when Taskmaster began to read.

* * *

 

One hour and one catastrophic fight with a Balrog later, and it was time to sleep.

The first to crawl under the blankets was Deadpool, who lied on his right side and waited with open arms as Taskmaster turned off the light and crawled next to him to lie on his side as well, pressing his back against Deadpool’s chest with a highly undignified sigh of satisfaction as he felt the other man’s warmth invading his body.

And you know what? _Fuck it_ , because Deadpool, scarred and insane, was the most comfortable thing to cuddle up with.

Once Taskmaster’s body was glued to Deadpool’s, the big spoon wrapped his arms around his friend and tangled their legs:

“Nighty-night, Taskcuddle!” Deadpool whispered cheerfully, planting a sloppy kiss on the back of Taskmaster’s neck. The other mercenary merely sighed, annoyed, but already resigned to the fact that there was little he could do against Deadpool’s affectionate nature: he would have to content himself with the fact that the other mercenary had started to finally stick to the rule of no kissing in public.

And, thank god, whenever Deadpool decided to go mouth to mouth on his mercenary fellow, it didn’t involve that much saliva anymore:

“Good night, DP,” Taskmaster replied quietly and closed his eyes, snuggling just a bit more on the solid and warm body behind him.

Deadpool was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the spot he had just kissed. He gave an affectionate squeeze to Taskmaster and sighed. The city lights, coming through the cracks in the blinds and filtering through the curtains, danced softly on the closed doors of Taskmaster’s wardrobe.

Taskmaster’s and Deadpool’s, because now Wade stored some of his clothes in there as well. From the bottom of his heart, the scarred man was still in awe about Taskmaster allowing him to simply settle in and live there with him. The thought that it would be over soon, that Taskmaster would have enough and not want him anymore still haunted him, though. So at the end of each day, when they were still lying together in bed, cuddled up, Deadpool thanked silently to no one in particular – just thanked that he still had _this_.

He sighed and closed his eyes:

“I love you, Tony. You’re my best friend…” he whispered, his lips brushing against the spot he had kissed on Taskmaster’s neck.

The other mercenary had been waiting to hear that – Deadpool said it every night, and only after hearing that and replying accordingly did Taskmaster allow himself to fall asleep. He smiled softly:

“I love you too, Wade. You’re my best friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
